Overcompensating
by thecouchcarrot
Summary: Slight AU one-shot, established Dean/Human!Cas, fluffy to the core. Dean's cool with the whole dating-a-dude thing, but he might be trying too hard. "Dean rubbed his nose along Cas's cheek, never taking his eyes off that slutty slutbag in the corner."


A/N:_ Fanfiction. It's an illness._

_To be fair, since the season started back up the boys have been extra on my minds. So, I wrote this flufftastic little fluffshot for us all. It's slight AU - basically, assume that the events of Swan Song didn't happen like that. Cas didn't get 'sploded, so he stayed human. Sam never got sent to hell. Presumably, the world was saved in a manner pleasing to all. That doesn't really matter for this story, however - what matters is that Cas and the Winchesters are all hunting together and Dean and Cas have succumbed to their deeply obvious attraction. This is a few short vignettes about Dean's method of coping with his newfound orientation._

_Enjoy, and please please please review. This is a oneshot, so I'm givin' it all I got here. Let me know if you like it._

* * *

She was wearing way too little, two sizes too small, and she leaned up against the jukebox provocatively. Her fake blonde hair was tousled and wild, like she'd already had some fun tonight.

Dean tugged Cas closer to him, his arm drawing tighter around the other man's neck.

Cas shifted uncomfortably. "Dean," he muttered. "What are you doing?"

"That chick is givin' you the eye," Dean growled. He was kind of a little bit drunk, but not stupid.

Cas cocked his head slightly. "How can you tell?"

Dean rubbed his nose along Cas's cheek, never taking his eyes off that slutty slutbag in the corner. "Look at her face, dude. She's practically mouthing 'come hither.'"

Cas considered. "Perhaps she's looking at you."

"Nope." Dean bumped their knees together under the table and brushed his lips along Cas's ear. "I noticed her when I went up to the bar. She's only got eyes for you." And for some reason, that made Dean really, really, really want to fuck Cas right here on this table, just slam him down on the greasy Formica and rip off his clothes and take him right in front of her, rough and hot and dirty and obscene, and just when Cas was totally gone and shouting his name he'd look that skank right in the eyes and say, "He's mine, bitch."

"CHRIST, Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

Oh.

Did he say that last part out loud?

"_Yes_," Sam groaned, rubbing his temple. "For the love of all that is holy, Dean. Get. A. Room."

"Why don't _you _get a room," Dean sniped back. Sure, it didn't make sense. Who cared.

Cas palmed his knee. "I think Sam has a point, Dean."

Dean compromised. He took Cas back to the motel and screwed him six ways 'til Sunday. And when Cas came undone and shouted "Dean – ahhhh, _Dean!_" just like he'd predicted, Dean couldn't help but think smugly to himself: _Mine, bitch_.

…..

"King," Dean declared defiantly, mentally daring the clerk to make something of it.

Cas shot him a sideways glance.

The desk clerk slid him the key card and smiled insincerely. He probably made minimum wage. "212. Down the hall and to the right."

Dean took the card, still glaring at the clerk, and twitched back an equally insincere smile of thanks.

Sam rolled his eyes and stepped up to the counter. "Single, please."

Dean swaggered confidently back to their room, confident he'd been the winner of that exchange. Cas followed, glancing back at the clerk momentarily, but he didn't say anything about it.

….

"Cas…" Dean began hesistantly. He didn't want him to get the wrong idea, but it was something that had been bugging him for awhile.

Cas waited patiently.

"Don't tell Sam that we do this."

Cas frowned slightly. "Do what?"

"You know." Dean shrugged at their intertwined bodies under the covers. "Lay in bed together. Watch the Food Network. Dr. Sexy, M.D… As far as Sam knows, we fuck, light a couple cigarettes and crack a few beers. I'd like to keep it that way."

Cas's frown deepened. "You want me to lie to him?"

"No," Dean countered, "just… if he makes certain assumptions about us, don't correct him, okay? He doesn't need to know all the intimate details of what goes on between us." He kissed the side of Cas's mouth, trying vainly to keep it from pulling farther downward. "C'mon, dude. Don't go all disapproving-angel on me."

Suddenly Cas turned his head and looked Dean straight in the eyes. "Do you love me, Dean?"

Dean's heart squeezed agonizingly for a second.

"'Course I love you," he breathed.

Cas's blue eyes were dark and troubled. "Is Sam allowed to know that?"

Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Dude, if Sam _doesn't_ know it, then we've got a problem, alright?" He tightened his arms around Cas and pressed his lips to Cas's. "Everybody in the world needs to know it." He chuckled. "Hell, I'll wear around a sandwich board that says 'Whipped by an Angel' if that's what you want."

Cas smiled a little. "I'm not that cruel, Dean."

"And I admit that it took me a little while to get used to the idea of – 'us.' It's not the kinda thing that I'd ever seen for myself. But all that really matters to me… is _you_," Dean admitted. "So… I guess… if it really bothers you… you can tell Sam about the girly shit we do." He sighed and buried his face in Cas's neck. "You can even tell him about the back rubs," he mumbled.

Cas was silent for a moment. "Thank you."

Great. Sam was going to cackle with glee and Dean was never going to live this down, ever.

"But I don't think I will."

Dean smiled.

…

After nearly getting into a brawl with some very burly and very angry bikers, Sam yanked Dean and Cas outside and told Cas to go wait in the car.

Cas's eyes were indignant, but he complied.

"Dean." Sam grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to import the gravity of the situation to him. "What is your _problem?_"

"Wasn't_ my_ problem, it was _theirs_," Dean retorted. "Not my fault they're a pack of homophobic jerkwads."

Sam groaned and smacked his forehead. "Dean, they weren't staring because you and Cas are together, they were staring because we're new to this dive and it's _obviously_ their local hangout and – Look, Dean. I'm glad you and Cas are happy, alright? And I'm glad you're secure in your sexuality. But this has got to stop."

Dean stared at him like he was speaking Chinese. "What are you talking about?"

"You, picking a fight with anyone who looks at you funny?" Sam prompted. "You, barking 'Yes, we're together! You got a problem with that?' at random pedestrians? You, acting like Cas is a dying man who can only be saved by constant mouth-to-mouth? You seem to have this need to prove to everyone that you're a dude dating a dude and you're still a man, which is fine and great, but _no one is contradicting you_. You're pissing people off not because you challenge their worldview, but because you have a chip on your shoulder the size of a city block and it's annoying as hell. You need to start use some discretion, Dean, or you're gonna get yourself killed. Nobody cares that you're gay, so stop_ shoving_ it in their faces."

Dean blinked for a moment, stunned.

Finally he seemed to regain his power of speech. "You done?"

"Yup." Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. "Are you?"

Dean licked his lips and nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good."

They both glanced back at the Impala, where Cas was glowering in the shotgun seat.

Dean dangled the keys and grinned. "Looks like the backseat for you, kiddo."

Sam huffed and started towards the car.

"Boy," Dean remarked casually. "I could tell you some stories about that back seat."

"Don't," Sam warned. "It's not funny, Dean."

"Did I ever tell you about the time Cas and I – "

"DEAN!"


End file.
